


Menage a Quart

by ImperfectSilence



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Butterfly Effect, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dominatrix Fleur, F/F, Fem! Harry, Not Canon Compliant, Smut, but we're at the stage of small twisters in Fiji
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:46:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26829832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImperfectSilence/pseuds/ImperfectSilence
Summary: Fleur had a plan to win the tournament, a foolproof one. She was gifted in that she was desirable. Men fell at her feet, women giggled and swooned. Sure, she was a strong witch to boot, but why struggle when you can coast through on your knees? Then, when a fourth name came out of the goblet, Fleur thought her plans were ruined. But, as she finds out, that may not be so. In fact, this might have made it easier than ever to win the tournament.
Relationships: Fleur Delacour/Harry Potter
Comments: 11
Kudos: 99





	1. Chapter 1

“The time has come for the champions to be chosen.” Dumbledore says as he rises, waving his wand to dim all of the scones on the walls. The chatter of the post desert socializing winds down as he steps down from the head table to the Goblet of Fire’s dais. The goblet itself flickers cheerfully, green flames lapping over the edges of its rim.

“From Durmstrang, our friends from the north, the champion is,” The goblet flares a violent orange and a piece of charred paper shoots out of the Goblet drifting down to Dumbledore’s outstretched hand, “Victor Krum!”

Applause breaks out as the man in question stands, bowing to his table and walking past Dumbledore into the room behind the head table.

“Our next contestant, from these very shores, is,” Again the goblet flares, this time sending up a violet tongue of flame, the paper rocketing out of the goblet into Dumbledore’s chest. The aged wizard pulls it out of his beard and reads, “Cedric Diggory!” Hufflepuff erupts into thunderous applause, joined by smatterings from the other tables, though many students are disappointed and some voicing their complaints a bit too loudly.

“for our final draw, last but certainly not least is from the venerable Beauxbatons Academy,” The goblet flickers and whooshes, sending a thick cloud of blue smoke rolling down the aisles, Dumbledore pulling the parchment out of the air, “Fleur Delacour.” He announces, and the beauxbatons students have mixed results, some cheering, but most looking enraged or in tears.

“I’d like to thank everyone for their generous congratulations, and to say welcome to our newest Triwizard Competitors! Please join me in another round of- another-“ he trails off as the Goblet shakes, the torches along the walls sputtering and going out as the goblet’s gyrations grow more and more violet. When the pressure has built as much as it can, frost creeping over the windows, water goblets freezing and student’s shivering- it explodes. A massive eruption of flame and smoke, a blast furnace opened pours from the Goblet, searing eyebrows and cracking glass. Sweat drips and sizzles as it drops from the accumulated students and staff. Covered in soot, Dumbledore catches a balled up scorched paper with a trembling hand.

“Harri Potter.” He says with disbelief. “Harri Potter, please come up.” Nervously, the fourth year does, head hung low, shying away from the gazes of the other students, quietly hopping up the steps of the dais past the teacher’s table and slipping into the back room without a word.

The great hall was silent for the duration of her passage, but as soon as the door to the room closes it erupts into a frenzy of whispers.

* * *

“What iz it? Do they want us back?” Fleur asks, being the only one who was looking back on the door when Harri slipped in. The girl shakes her head, ashen under the red locks and moves to stand behind one of the unoccupied armchairs. In the light from the nearby fireplace, Fleur can make out that she’s thin and small, ill-fitting clothes hanging off of her, cloth bunched up and oversized shrouding her. She looks ill, pale and shaking, fingers white knuckled on the armchair.

“Marvelous!” Ludo Bagman says as the adults file into the room, “four champions! Imagine that!” he says to his companion, the grim and tacit Barty Crouch.

“Igor, what is the meaning of this?” Krum demands as soon as he sees his headmaster, Madame Maxime stepping to Fleur’s side.

“Why it’s obvious dear boy, we have four competitors.” Ludo answers, unable to hide the grin from his face.

“The goblet spit out another name after you were called, Miss Delacour.” Mr. Crouch answers, pulling out a massive tome and tracing down the table of contents.

“Potter has done it again Headmaster, and you cannot overlook it this time. She’s lied her way into an international tournament- embarrassing all of us in front of our guests.” Snape snaps at Dumbledore as they walk in, the last to enter.

“Dumblydore, this cannot stand. Hogwarts cannot have two champions- it isn’t fair.” Maxime says, resting a hand on Fleur’s shoulder.

“No offense, Harri, but this isn’t cool. She’s right, it isn’t fair. Why would you enter?” Cedric says, twisting around to look at Harri, who shrinks under his gaze.

“Well?” Snape sneers, and when she doesn’t answer, opening her mouth but unable to summon words he grabs her by the arm,“I’ll force it out of you if I have to.” He says, dragging her closer to the fire and shoving her closer to the hot stones. Harri tries to fight her way back from the fire, eyes wide, but she can’t overcome his greater strength and size. Fleur isn’t sure what to think, and she’s close to stepping in when Dumbledore intervenes.

“Professor Snape, that is enough.” The wizard commands, iron lacing his voice.

“Fine.” The dour professor snarls, shaving Harri away where she stumbles over the armchair and nearly falls to the floor.

“Harri, I have to ask, did you enter your name in the goblet of fire?” Dumbledore asks, helping her to her feet. She shakes her head no, but it isn’t enough.

“I’m afraid I need to hear you say it.” Dumbledore says.

“N- no. I- I didn’t put my name in, sir.” Harri squeaks out, stepping back unconsciously.

“Whether she did or not is irrelevant.” Igor snarls, “She cannot stay in the competition.”

“Regretfully, it is not our choice anymore.” Barty says, standing and holding out the book, “her name came out of the Goblet. She must compete.”

“Are you sure?” Dumbledore asks, not even looking at the book as it is passed around.

“Positive.” Barty sighs.

“Then that is it. She will have to compete, just like the others.” Dumbledore says, and that is the end of it. They tell them all about the tournament and pass on the day of the first task, but then it’s over and they’re leaving. Krum and Karkaroff are the first to storm out, followed by the two from the ministry. Snape had vanished with a scowl much earlier, right after Harri was confirmed as a legitimate champion. Cedric and Dumbledore are next, Maxime following the Hogwarts headmaster. Fleur looks over at Harri, still standing where she was thrown to, having not moved the whole meeting. Fleur thinks about saying something, but brushes the desire aside and walks out, leaving the girl alone.

* * *

Later, when Fleur couldn’t sleep, she’s wandering the halls. She’s walked from the Ravenclaw tower down to the Dungeons and back, passing all of the classrooms. She knows what’s keeping her awake- her strategy is in ruins. She entered the tournament with a plan in mind- and a desire to win by any means. Fleur knew she was attractive, and knew how powerful she was as a veela. Assuming the other competitors would be male, her plan was simple; she’d sleep with them, string them along, suck them off, and do whatever to get them under her thrall. Then, she’d make them bow to her commands and let her win the cup. She had no qualms about using her body for whatever she wanted- it wasn’t like this was the first time. But, then Harri Potter has to sneak her way in. Harri would never be under Fleur’s thrall- veela magic’s didn’t work like that. Outside of her sex magic, Fleur was a good witch, but not exceptional. Not great enough to beat out the Girl-Who-Lived.

The Great Hall is locked up, not that she tried to go back in, but she absently wonders if Potter ever moved, or if she’s still standing in the room, staring at the flames. Shaking off the errant thought, Fleur rounds the corner and almost trips, stumbling over a crumpled shape on the floor. Raising her wand to look at whatever it was, Fleur realizes it’s a person- more specifically Harri. The girl is huddled along the wall, her robes wrapped around her. She had probably been asleep, but obviously Fleur would have woken her if she was.

“What the hell are you doing here!” Fleur hisses. “Trying to kill me, you little bitch. Cheating your way into the tournament wasn’t enough for you?” She grabs the little girl roughly, dragging her to her feet, shoving her against the wall.

“You don’t stand a chance.” Fleur hisses in her ear, ”I’ll crush you.”

She realizes a moment later that the shaking girl is sobbing, silently swallowing her tears. Fleur releases the grip she has on the girls’ arm and she crumples back to the floor at Fleur’s feet. She’s tempted to step over her and continue on her way, but Fleur thinks better.

This isn’t her. She can’t do this to the poor girl. No one deserves to be left alone and abandoned, no matter what they’ve done.

“Get up.” Fleur says, trying not to sound too harsh, but not kindly either. Harri climbs to her feet silently. “Follow me.” Fleur orders, and she starts walked, checking back to see the girl quietly following. Fleur walks out of the castle proper and back to the carriage, paying no mind to the waif of a girl behind her, shivering and barefoot in the October frost. Fleur pushes open the door to the carriage and pulls Harri inside.

“Third door on the left.” She says, and the girl follows her commands without protest. Fleur sighs for a moment, flicking her wand to corrupt the ward access list, a trick she learned. She checks herself over before pushing into her room.

Harri is standing, still shaking, in the middle of the room, though she steps aside as Fleur strides in.

“Clothes. Off.” Fleur commands, reaching over to turn on the water to her tub. As the tub fills she questions what she’s doing, but pushes her worry aside. She turns back to see Harri bright red, standing naked, her robes folded neatly in her arms, her underwear laying on top. Fleur takes the clothes and tosses them on a chair, pulling it’s partner out.

“Sit.” She orders, and the girl sinks into the chair silently, still shaking. “Calm down, I’m not going to hurt you.” Fleur rolls her eyes, kneeling. She pulls her wand and ignores the flinch from the girl sitting in the chair. Fleur waves a diagnostic spell on the small girl and reads through the results- it’s not a pretty story.

Fleur forces herself to focus only on the recent injuries, shuffling under the bedspread for her aid kit. Fleur pulls out a jar of bruise cream and starts rubbing it in. She tries, but can’t ignore the dramatic blue hand print on her arm, nor the heat blisters on the girl’s cheek. She slathers burn paste on the girls knee where she must have been forced onto by the fireplace. Fleur does the best she can to seal up the cuts and scrapes on the girls, well, everywhere. She’s got them on her hands and arms, her legs, her chest and sides, the back of her neck. Fleur scowls as she pulls out a pair of tweezers and starts picking broken glass out of the girls foot, cursing herself as she realizes she probably caused this injury herself.

“W- why?” Harri rasps, barely able to summon even a whisper.

Fleur has no answer, can’t explain why she is doing any of this, why she’s helping the girl who has ruined all of her plans. Instead, she just starts cleaning out Harri’s foot from a large shard of glass that was embedded in the sole. The piece clinks as Fleur drops it with the others, six in total. When Fleur has done what she can she checks the water.

“In.” She orders Harri. Harri blinks owlishly, slowly climbing into the tub. She hisses from the heat at first, but can’t help the gasp of pleasure as the heat sinks into her bones.

Fleur grabs the soap and a washcloth and, bewildered even to herself, starts washing the girl. Harri is passive, following instructions quickly and without any shred of resistance, even when Fleur pushes things.

“Legs spread.”

“Turn around.”

“Bend over.”

Fleur is cold and dispassionate as she goes through the motions, making sure Harri is clean. She started from the girls feet and worked up, nearly finished as she rises the cloth one more time, wiping off the girls neck.

“eyes closed and hold your breath.” Fleur instructs, not waiting to see if Harri follows before plunging the girl in the water. She drags Harri back out, the girl quiet as her hair plasters to her shoulders, limp and sodden. Fleur dumps some shampoo in her hand and starts scrubbing the girls scalp, working through the hair. When she’s worked through all of the clumps and strands, Fleur rinses the shampoo out. She leans back and looks at the girl in her tub, small and obedient.

“Come on out of there.” Fleur tells her, reaching for a towel as she does. Fleur towels off the girl gently, patting her dry and making sure she’s not dripping other than her hair. Grabbing a brush she shoves Harri down in the chair and starts pulling it through the tangles, coaxing between it and her wand to dry the locks. Finally, once Harri’s hair is dry and tangle free, fleur tugs it into a loose bun, pinning it up with a few charms. Fleur thinks about what to do next, noticing the underwear and nightie neatly folded on the edge of the bed. They’re not hers, so they must be for Harri.

“Put these on.” She tells Harri, handing her the underwear. Harri slides them on and then waits for further instruction. Fleur pulls the girl closer and wraps the nightie around her, buttoning the front.

Fleur checks her mirror, making sure she’s still okay to sleep and isn’t dirty. She’s as clean as always and climbs into bed. Fleur cuts the light and tries to sleep.

About two minutes later, she turns over to see Harri still standing in the middle of the room. Fleur looks around and sighs, opening up the covers,

“Come here.” Harri slowly walks to the head of the bad and looks at Fleur, the barest hint of confusion hidden behind her eyes. Fleur reaches out and grabs Harri’s arm, dragging her into bed. Fleur nestles the girl into her, wrapping an arm around her. Harri is stiff at first, but slowly relaxes and stops fighting as the two fall asleep.

The next morning Fleur wakes confused for a moment to the small shape clinging to her, but remembers her actions the previous night. She flushes as she realizes everything she did, and wonders what she’s doing. It’s not like she can walk around with the girl following her, not like she can enslave the fourth champion. But, as she thinks, is that not what she was going to do about the other two? Just in a different way? Fleur smiles to herself, realizing her original plan is probably still a good one, and perhaps even better if Harri is as pliant as she was the night before.

Fleur climbs out of bed, disentangling the girl’s arms from her and sliding out. She picks an outfit and draws a bath, sinking into the water with a fond sigh. Work before pleasure, Fleur thinks as she starts scrubbing. When she’s washed everything, she drains the tub and lets her hair hang over the side, before sliding a hand down to touch her breasts. She knows she has perfect boobs, it’s just a veela thing to be perfect- and as she rubs and tweaks they plump, the nipples tingling. Fleur pulls her wand from the table and waves it, sending a pleasurable vibration to her lower lips. She focuses on massaging and fondling her breasts, making sure to pay them proper attention before the real fun down south. Fleur slides a hand down her front, gingerly cupping her sex and rubbing a finger along her lips. Slowly, teasingly, she plays with her labia and thigh, caressing and pulling at the skin and nerves. The fire in her gut stokes higher, and she can feel her fingertips getting wetter. She opens her eyes to see Harry leaning over the other side of the tub, red faced and watching.

“Naughty girl.” Fleur breathes, slipping a finger deeper into herself as she meets the girls eyes. “Spying on me while I have my morning rub? How disgraceful.” She’s not upset about Harri’s intrusion- the girl was probably curious or wanted another command. But Fleur pays her no great mind, playing with her pussy more, tugging and stroking and wriggling her fingertips inside her, rubbing the sensitive flesh. She picks her wand back up and touches it to the apex of her sex and mutters a charm, sending the flesh under it vibrating. She gasps and sighs as the waves of pleasure coax though her, soft squelching sounds coming from her sex as she pushes her fingers in and pulls them out. She enjoys the sucking her walls put on them as they fight to keep them inside her and the delightful friction as she plunges back in. She pushes her knees farther apart and rolls her hips as she pushes in and out of herself, droplets of sweat and fluid dripping to the floor of the tub with quiet plops. Fleur can feel her orgasm building as she continues pleasuring herself, the buzzing flesh coaxing out the little button of nerves for her other hand to play with. Fleur rubs and thrusts and pants until she feels the waves build and crash over her, sinking to the floor of the tub as her limbs spasm. She opens her eyes just in time to see Harri swipe a finger through the pool of sweat and juices and stick the finger in her mouth.

“Naughty fucking girl.” Fleur giggles, still in the haze of orgasm. “You’ll be punished for that. Well? Do you like my juices? The fruit of my loins? The honey from my pot?”

Harri nods, the red flush spreading from her cheeks down the nightie.

“Bon. But you will pay for that. You’re mine, no?” Fleur says, climbing out of the tub and wiping her thighs off. Harri stands still as Fleur dresses, still sucking on her finger.

“Let’s see, how should we dress you?” Fleur says with a look, appraising the girl. Unfortunately, all that appears for Harri is a Hogwarts uniform, and Fleur dresses her pet carefully but disappointed. She does take the time to push Harri down in front of her vanity and make her up a little. With as much as she blushes, she doesn’t need the powder. But, a little mascara and some gloss go a long way to making her pet cuter. Fleur snags her wand and prepares to leave, but before she opens the door she thinks of something.

“Harri, if I told you to do something, would you do it?” The girl nods, wide doe eyes focusing on Fleur.

“Excellent.” Fleur waves her wand, concentrating on exactly what she wants. “Close your eyes.”

Harri does and waits. She feels something wraps around her neck, Fleur’s delicate fingers slipping the thing around and lacing it up. Harri goes red as she remembers where those fingers were just a short time ago, and, sniffing lightly, she can still smell the sex on them.

“You can open them now.” Fleur says, and Harri does as she’s asked. She blinks in the mirror, staring at the result. She’s still Harri, but with the makeup she looks more innocent, more fragile. But the real draw of Harri’s eyes is the collar. It’s a tasteful ring of braided silver, almost like a choker if not for the length of chain in Fleur’s hands.

“Nod if you like it.” Fleur says, watching the girl’s wide eyes and the flickers behind them. Slowly, Harri nods, fighting the flush of red on her cheeks.

“Good, pet,” Fleur whispers in Harri’s ear, before whirling for the door. “Time for breakfast.”

* * *

The scene in the great hall is broken as soon as Fleur walks in. She’s dressed in her robes, like every other time, but this time there’s something more. Following behind her, meekly, and leashed to the French Veela, is Harri Potter. Conversation stops. Forks drop. Mouths hang open. But, among it all, despite the red cheeks and nervous shake, Harri is more calm than ever. Fleur picks a space at the Ravenclaw table and sits down, tugging Harri to follow.

“Pet, what would you like today?” Fleur asks, though she doesn’t expect or care about an answer. She knows what she’s feeding her new pet as she reached for bowl of fruit.

Harri doesn’t answer, the tight feeling in her chest preventing her from talking just like it has almost every other time. Still, Fleur turns to her and smiles, “open up.”

Half of Ravenclaw table watches as Fleur Delacour feeds Harri strawberries and grapes for half of breakfast, amusingly playing with her new pet.

“Miss Delacour, we would request a word after breakfast.” Fleur looks up to see a stern witch with a red broach pinned to her robes. She’s not familiar with the teachers here at Hogwarts yet, but she guesses that this is Professor McGonagall, the deputy headmistress and head of house Gryffindor, the former house of Harri.

“Of course professor. Let me just finish up here and we’ll be ready.” Fleur says, grabbing a napkin and wiping Harri’s mouth of any leftover juices from the berries. “Lead on.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, unsure when the next chapter will be coming, since this was a shocker, but definitely going to keep writing this as long as it remains fun. Fleur has plans. Harri does too, but those plans are very formless at the moment. Also, explanation will be given as to how Harri ended up in the life she is in, and how everything has changed. Eventually.

The deputy walks firmly and quickly, leading Fleur and her pet out of the great hall and down the corridor to a small room. She pushes to door open and steps aside, holding it open for the two of them. Fleur struts in with nary a word, but Harri looks up and murmurs a thank you that McGonagall, if she heard, makes no move to acknowledge.

“Now professor, what iz this all about?” Fleur asks, situating herself in a chair and tugging Harri close with a jerk on the leash. The girl stumbles, but catches herself on the back of the chair and stands quietly as the two witches face off.

“I’ll admit, I don’t know what kinds of things are allowed at your ‘fine’ institution across the channel, but here at Hogwarts we pride ourselves in our class and dignity, and thankfully, both of those restrict enslaving or empett-ening the lower years.”

“Madame, I assure you I have done nozzing that Harri was opposed to, though she may not have been entirely verbal about her expressions,” Fleur says, stroking Harri’s cheek, “een fact, from what I 'ave observed, she may be better off in my care zen left alone to the whims of her classmates.”

McGonagall’s eyes narrow and her face turns red, “I assure you, she is safe and happy and-“

“Zen why did I trip over her last night? She was in ze cold halls, with no blanket, no friends. Curled up at the foot of the doors to the Great hall shivering.” Fleur accuses.

“I cannot claim to know why she was wandering the halls, Ms. Potter has a long history of breaking curfew and-“

“There is no policy in place to keep ze lower years in their dorms? No spells, or I believe you call zem ‘prefects’ watching? No one checking ze halls or ze beds? Non?”

“We have all of those in place. Ms. Potter is in possession of some items that allow her to-“

“So she iz a special case? I did not hear other students wandering the halls last night? Or any of ze previous ones? No one raiding ze kitchens or finding a ‘friend’ to share a broom closet with?” Fleur continues.

“I’ve had enough of this- you are a student here, and I am a professor. This entire exchange has been ridiculous. I insist you let Ms. Potter go and join her classmates, and if I see her with you again-“

“If you zee her with me again, what? I am not one of your students. I do not go to your school. In fact, one of ze terms of this tournament was that we are not punishable by members of ze other schools faculty. And, even if zat was not true, I am a champion selected by ze Goblet of Fire. You have no right to impose any sort of restriction on me.” Fleur rises and unclips the collar from Harri, whirling to face the stern Transfiguration Professor. She storms to the door and pauses, turning back.

“Au revoir, Harri. I ope your classes go well.” She vanishes out the door without another word. McGonagall, her crusade complete, leaves the room as well without a second glance. Harri, left alone, doesn’t move for a while. It’s… difficult to push herself to move, even though she knows she has classes. It’s just, simpler, to not care. To go with the push and follow along with the rest.

Easier not to rock the boat, but she has to. Harri pulls away from the chair and slips out the door. The hall is full of students, full of friends and cheers, people happy from breakfast or ribbing their roommates about not waking them. She picks her way through the crowd carefully, trying her best not to be noticed. She gets bumped and jostled until someone does notice her. Then the hall goes silent.

“There she is. The cheat.” Harri can’t tell who said it, but once it’s said the hall grows dimmer. The stares less forgiving, more harsh and judgmental.

“Cedric’s the real champion.” Someone sneers.

“Poor little Harri, you’re going to be smashed flat in the first task.” Another person taunts.

Harri tries to push past the crowd of students, wanting to get to charms before she’s late. A boy with a blue tie steps over and blocks her path. She tries another route, but this time a Hufflepuff girl blocks her.

“P-please let me by.” Harri whispers, struggling to say anything with everyone staring.

“Make me, freak.” The girl says, crossing her arms. Harri shrinks back, long set conditioning sinking in.

“Oh, look, she’s scared.” The girl brags, looking around at her friends. “You deserve everything coming to you, bitch.” The girl snarls, grabbing Harri’s tie and yanking her close, choking her from the grip. She then tosses Harri aside and the crowd disperses, headed to class now that the show is over. Harri picks herself up from the cold stone and gathers her things. The bell chimes, and she knows she’s late to charms.

Flitwick is in the middle of explaining the charm when she slips into the room. There’s an empty desk off to the side which she slides into. It’s in a terrible place; the blackboard half obscured by the tapestry’s Flitwick has hanging on the walls. The professor himself doesn’t stop his lecture, though he doesn’t make any move to send the materials for the charm her way either.

“Now you all try it.” He instructs, looking over at the class. Harri, with no idea what they’re casting, draws her wand and tries to pick out what they’re learning. The other students have a plate on their desks, and they’re shouting and waving their wands at the plate.

Harri is actually pretty good at magic, though she knows she’s going to fail her OWLs. She can’t perform under pressure- her tongue twists up and her voice goes dead. She spies Hermione Granger at the front of the room, concentrating fiercely. The girl is staring at her plate and concentrating, wand tracing lightly in the air in front of her.

“cndslalin cnosn.” Hermione says firmly, and then tries to lift the plate. To both Harri’s surprise as well as Hermione’s, it doesn’t budge a millimeter. Careful to watch the movements of the other students, Harri pulls out her transfiguration textbook and tries the spell.

“csalnln cnls” She says, echoing the incantation as best she can. As soon as the magic leaves her wand, Harri knows that something is wrong. She’d been afraid her spell wouldn’t’ do anything at all, but it did have an effect. From the center where she was pointing her wand, the textbook was rotting and decaying. Rapidly. In a matter of moments, the entire textbook was naught but black slime and curled rotten pulp. She bites her lip and shoves her wand away, hoping no one’s noticed.

She could never be so lucky. “Miss Potter has just demonstrated an advanced piece of magic, on the same level as she would have needed to slip through the Headmasters’ protections. That was an advanced rotting curse, one that if cast at another wizard will see the Aurors coming here to arrest you. Miss Potter, I expected better than you practicing dark magic in my classroom. But, why should I have held a hope that you’d be anything like your parents? Get out of my sight.”

Banished from the classroom, Harri walks toward her next class, dreading it with every fiber of her being. She could try and skip it, but that never worked in the past. He always found her, and the punishment for skipping was worse. At least he had other students to focus on in class. When it was just her and him…Harri hoped it wouldn’t come to that. She prayed with every fiber of her being.

“Miss…Potter.” Harri freezes in place, the cold dread sliding down her spine again. “Skipping class are we?” Snape tutts. “That will be 25 points from Gryffindor. Another 20 for this morning’s display, and take ten off for a bad showing in front of our foreign guests.”

She bows her head and tries not to provoke him further. “What’s this?” He grips her jaw and pulls her head up to look at him, cold eyes sneering at her, full of hate and perverse pleasure. “Cosmetics? In my class? 75 points from Gryffindor. Scrub that filth off before class begins or it will be another 50.” Harri nods and runs for the bathroom, hot tears pricking at her eyes.

“Another 10 points for running in the halls.” Snape calls after her. The door hasn’t even closed before the tears slide down her cheeks and her shoulders heave from suppressed sobs. She looks in the mirror and catches her own eyes.

She looked… pretty for once. Nice. Like someone cared, like she cared, like she was worth it. Now, there were ugly tracks running down her face, black drops splattering on the porcelain. She looked demented, deformed, ugly. Full of a rage she couldn’t hide, Harri snarled at the mirror. The glass cracked, one jagged split across the middle that slowly branched out and splintered into smaller lines as the pressure of her magic grew until it finally shattered, shards of glass flying through the air and impaling themselves in the stall doors and walls.

Horrified at what she did, Harri bites her lip again until she tastes blood. There’s nothing she can do now to fix it. She pulls inward on her magic, balling it up with all of her resentment and pain until it’s buried deep inside her, compressed into a pit of darkness and locked in a closet.

She scrubs at her face from the tap, glancing at the mirror above the other sink to try and claw everything off before class started. She wasn’t gentle, knowing that she’s in a race against time to both get everything off before class, but more importantly get out of here before anyone comes in and notices the mirror. The bell is almost ringing to signal class change when she judges her face clean enough. It’s red and blotchy, but she can’t see any trace of the makeup left.

Harri grabs her bag and rushes out of the bathroom, darting down the thankfully empty hall and into the nook by the potions classroom. The bell rings and students file out, the combined Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw class loud and angry from Snape’s abuses. They don’t spot her and she slips in as soon as the last one files out. She takes her normal seat, crammed into the darkest corner where it’s impossible to see her textbook instructions. It’s coincidentally the only solo desk in the room, forcing her to do twice the work.

“Early, I see.” Snape drawls, stalking over to loom.” Well, I don’t see any of that disgusting product left on you.” A group of students walk in and Snape’s eyes almost light up in anticipation.

“10 points for being so ugly, Potter.” He smirks. The students laugh and Harri buries her face in her textbook.

Snape swirls his robes and stalks away, snapping his wand to summon the ingredients for that day’s potion. He sends them out to students as the desks fill in, of course saving her for last. She doesn’t even groan when her batch of ingredients float over to land. Crumpled stalks, powdery horn, a dull knife- the worst of the lot. Making anything passable out of this mess would take someone of Snape’s talent, which Harri does not possess. It’s another day of vanished potion and vitriol.

She does her best, but between the dim lighting and the trash ingredients, Harri’s potion flashes and emits a loud burp of pink smoke. At the front of the room, Draco and Hermione both look gleeful to see her failure, their own potions a lovely powder blue and smoking lightly green smoke.

“Hmm. You’ve somehow managed to fail yet another of the easiest potions, Potter.” Snape drawls, vanishing her cauldron with a flick of his wand. “You receive a zero for the day. Six feet on the proper uses of erumpent horn in healing potions, due next class.” She’s quick to scribble the assignment down and goes to pack her notes away when he continues, “That is in addition to the class assignment of three feet on the uses of fluxweed. Due next week.”

Harri finishes packing her things up and goes to leave, only to be stopped, “Going somewhere Miss Potter? I assume you expect special treatment like always? Well, I will not mollycoddle you. Sit back down. You will be allowed to leave once everyone else has.”

Harri sits back down and waits, Snape eyeing her for more transgressions, things such as breathing too loudly, _“Seven points from Gryffindor- honestly potter could you be any louder?”_ to trying to start her assignments, _“This is potions class Miss Potter. Put your parchment away. Three points.”_ And even not helping others, _“Potter, why didn’t’ you warn Mr. Finnegan he was making a mistake? Twelve points.”_

Finally, Potions finished and Harri readied to leave. The Slytherins tried to stay as long as they could, but it was Lunch and they didn’t have it in them to dawdle too much. Harri walked out of the room thankfully, headed toward the Great Hall.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite little Gryffindor. How are you doing today cutie?” The arrogant drawl made her freeze, clutching her bag tightly.

“Come on, it’s only polite to respond.” he cajoles, walking up to her and crouching. His hand snaps out and grabs her jaw, roughly wrenching her face to meet his.

“Hello lovely.” Cormac smirks, “What no words for your favorite upper year? I’m the only one who doesn’t hate you for cheating into the tournament. Not your fault you got picked over me or any of the seventh years. Can’t blame you for doing what I did and that Goblet is obviously defective. Some French bird, A Hufflepuff, Krum the celebrity who’d faint if he broke a nail and you, my little poppet.”

“Still nothing? Come on, Potter. You’re better than this. It’s not hard. Say it.”

“H- Hello Cormac.” Harri chokes out, her jaw aching from his grip.

“There we go, that wasn’t so hard was it? God, you’d think I was asking to look down your blouse or something. Not that you have anything to see. Yet. When you do, well, I’m sure you’ll be quite accommodating to your friend, won’t you.” He squeezes on her jaw and Harri squeaks.

“Y- Yes, Cormac.”

“Good, now give me a kiss.” He leans in and latched onto her mouth, clenching her jaw to force her mouth open for his tongue. Harri knows better than to fight, letting him do what he wants and trying to think of something else. She focuses on last night, on Fleur and what she did. Harri zones out a bit and doesn’t notice when Cormac says something. She’s too caught up remembering the feel of a brush through her hair, of soft hands and curves against her, pulling her tight and close.

Her head whips to the side and her cheek stings. Harri climbs to her knees and looks back at Cormac, whose hand is still upraised from slapping her.

“You listen when I’m speaking to you, bitch.” He snarls. He raises his hand again and she flinches, closing her eyes and bracing.

She opens them when no pain comes to see Cormac walking away, and hears his chuckles.

“See you again tomorrow, little poppet.”

Fleur is sitting at the Ravenclaw table, trying to find something to eat among the disgusting English fare. She spies what looks like a bowl of fresh fruit and reaches for it, coming partially off her seat, when something smashes into her side.

Warm arms snake around her middle as best they can while a face buries itself in her side. Through the fabric of her robes she can feel wet from tears falling and the shaking.

“Harri?” She asks, turning back to face the girl still buried in her robes. “Harri, what’s wrong?” When she just stays buried in Fleur’s side, shaking from the sobs, Fleur realizes she has to use her other approach.

“Harri. Let me see you.” She says firmly, pulling her hands back. It takes everything in her not to reach for the girl when Harri draws back and lets Fleur see her face.

The simple bit of makeup Fleur ghosted on her looks like it was clawed off. Eyes red and blotchy from the tears, but what draws the attention is the blooming bruise on her cheek and the blood crusted from the corner of her mouth.

“Harri, what happened?” Fleur asks.

Harri just shakes her head no.

“Harri.” Fleur warns. Still Harri refuses to tell her.

“Harri, this will have consequences. You do as I say or you will be punished.”

Harri freezes in place, and Fleur can see the gears whirring in the girls mind, weighing the options. Slowly she opens her mouth, and Fleur readies herself for the story. But Harri closes it again and, bracing herself, shakes her head no.

Fleur finds herself wincing inside and sighs, grabbing the girls hand and standing up. “I warned you.” She drags them out of the Great Hall amidst stares and whispers. The professors, up at the head table, don’t say a word.

Fleur almost takes Harri to the empty classroom McGonagall took them to, but veers away at the last minute. _“Somewhere else”_ , she decides. Fleur ends up pulling Harri along, who doesn’t fight the dragging but can’t quite keep up with the older girl’s strides, to an alcove in the South Tower. They’re perched in a window along the curving stairs.

“Harri, one last chance to tell me.” Fleur tries, not wanting to actually discipline the girl. Harri resolutely doesn’t say anything or move at all.

“You leave me no choice.” Fleur says harshly. “Strip.” Harri does so, fumbling with the buttons and clasps. Fleur taps her foot as she waits, impatient for this to be over. Harri stands naked after another few moments, a neat pile of clothes on the steps next to Fleur’s foot. Harri shivers as Fleur looks her over, and circles the girl.

“Kneel.” Fleur commands, and Harri does. She’s not sure what the punishment is going to be, conflicted and torn inside. Harri just looks at her, eyes searching, waiting for the next command.

“Come here.” Fleur commands, walking to the window. Harri shuffles over, staying on her knees even on the rough and unforgiving stone steps.

“In the window, stand.” Fleur orders, crossing her arms and trying to hide the shaking. She can’t decide if it’s nerves, shame, or anticipation.

When Harri is halfway in the window, Fleur pushes her over. Harri’s breath whooshes out of her as her torso hangs out of the window, the ground below so far.

“A fall from this height will almost certainly kill you.” Fleur says harshly, “So hold on.”

She draws back and smacks Harri’s butt, spanking the girl. Harri lurches in the window, her ribs painfully rubbing on the stone and hands scrabbling to find purchase and hold her in the tower.

Fleur hits her again, and again, the sound of flesh hitting flesh echoing off the tower walls across the Hogwarts grounds.

“For disobeying me.” Fleur says, pulling back to hit her again.

“Another for the public spectacle.” Harri yelps as her hand finds the same spot one time too many and she lurches too far, Fleur yanking het back too far. Harri’s budding breasts scrape over the stone of the windowsill. She screams, loud and bloodcurdling and Fleur yanks her back in the tower immediately, pulling the girl into her arms and running up the stairs. In her head, Fleur is cursing herself nine ways to Sunday, terrified of someone bursting in and demanding to know just what she was doing to the world renowned savior of the wizarding world. She frantically summons the girl’s clothes after a moments panic.

They huddle in terror, or at least Fleur does. Harri just slumps against her and tries not to sob. Any moment now someone’s going to burst through the door and demand Fleur’s head for hurting Harri.

But, no one comes. Harri settles down, the pain fading away from her treatment. She curls tighter into Fleur’s front, and slowly Fleur’s panic fades away.

“Harri?” She asks softly. The girl looks up at her, eyes wide and red rimmed from crying. “Are you okay?”

“C- Cormac. Harri says roughly, voice hoarse from her scream and panting. “Cormac hit me. And Snape. Snape made me,” she moves her hand in front of her face before burying her face back in Fleur’s robes.

“I’m sorry.” Fleur says softly, unsure of what to do with the girl piled on her.

“S’okay. I was bad.” Harri mumbles into Fleur’s lap. “Deserved it.”

Fleur opens her mouth to tell Harri that she’s wrong, that she does not deserve what happened; she deserves none of it- but closes it without a word.

“Do you want the collar again?” Fleur asks softly, hesitantly.

Harri nods with such vigor, and Fleur feels her heart break. “Okay.” She whispers, pressing a kiss to the girl’s hair.

Fleur reaches for the girl’s underthings but Harri shakes her head.

“Collar.” She mumbles, looking up at Fleur, “Please?” wordlessly, Fleur digs out the collar from her bag and clips it on the small Gryffindor. Tension bleeds out of Harri as soon as the links click closed.

“Alright, Ma Petit. We need to heal you up.” Fleur says, gently pushing Harri out of her lap.

“Come now, arms up.” She orders. Harri takes a step back and does as commanded, exposing red scraped skin weeping blood in a few places. Her budding nipples are red and bloodied, as well as the skin under her ribs. The rest is only raw and sore. Fleur carefully heals what she can, getting the bleeding to stop. There’s nothing she can do about the raw skin, but she casts a numbing charm all the same.

“Turn around.” Fleur says. Harri rotates 180 degrees and Fleur has to bite off the curse she nearly says. Harri’s bottom is red and irritated, but worse is the clear handprints. Over and over again. Fleur raises a hand and matches up the red lines and the early purpling of bruises. They match perfectly with her own. Worse than that was the small arcs seeping blood at the end of the handprints. Fleur must have lost some of her control and started to manifest her talons when she was disciplining Harri.

She taps her wand on the stabs, sealing them up with magic. She wipes the blood away and kisses each cheek.

“Zere. Now, let’s get you dressed.” Fleur says, passing Harri her clothes one at a time. When she’s fully dressed Fleur stands and makes for the door, tugging Harri along behind her. Fleur doesn’t have to pull much, the girl sticking close to her left leg, dutifully head down and ready for commands. As they cross back into the halls of Hogwarts Fleur dances slightly, far too aware of how wet her panties are and how turned on she is. It would be easy to pull Harri into a room, ruck robes up and push Harri to her snatch, order the girl to lick, to suck and finger and-

Fleur roughly crushes her fantasies in her head and tried to focus on where she is and where she’s going. She had charms after lunch, right? Or was it Arithmancy?

Harri tugs on the sleeve of her robes and Fleur snaps at her, “What?”

Harri shrinks back and Fleur thinks she’s going to have to coax it out of the girl, but she’s surprised when Harri speaks.

“Mistress, you, you’re dripping.” Fleur checks the castle floor and closes her eyes.

“Merde.” She curses, tugging Harri toward a broom closet. So much for Charms.


	3. Year One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look back on how Harri came to be the way she is when we meet her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Voldemort came out fun to write, which was quite surprising. And we aren't done with First year quite. Some other scenes to add at some point, but sprinkled in rather than caked. Next chapter possibly a return to Fleur, but possibly Chamber of Secrets. Let me know what you think, and I hope you like it!
> 
> Edotrain and Kain- thank you for the push to work on this.

It had been bound to happen at some point. Fleur had been leading her new plaything around the castle for weeks on a leash, dressing her, feeding her, doing everything with the girl. Harri, if anyone had asked her, would tell that this was the best time of her life. Sure, Fleur was rough and demanding and being bound to someone else- literally collared and chained- was demeaning and humiliating. But she was eating, was sleeping. She was learning, was safe for the first time since her first month at Hogwarts first year.

Harri’s first few months of being a witch were the golden period of getting new things, of her relatives being too scared of her to threaten her. Gryffindor was great at first- before everyone turned on her. It started with Halloween, as it would come to always seem for her life to fall apart. That Halloween, Ron Weasley sent Hermione crying into the bathrooms after charms. It was embarrassing, and mean, but okay until Quirrell collapsed in the Great Hall.

She didn’t know about the troll! Harri tried to get Ron to come with her, but he ducked out with Dean and Seamus. Left with no one but her, Harri ran to find Hermione. She found the bookworm- and the troll. Stuck in the bathroom with the Troll, Harri did the best she could, managing to levitate its club and knock it out with it. When the teachers came and demanded to know what happened, Hermione lied.

“I tried to fight it, Harri came to save me.” She said.

“Miss Potter?” Mc Gonagall asked.

Harri, head bowed low as she’d been taught, told the truth, “No, Ma’am. Hermione was crying in here because Ron Weasley made fun of her after Charms. I did come to find her since she wouldn’t know about the troll.”

“And I suppose next you’ll tell us you managed to knock it out too.” Snape scowls.

“It’s true!” Harri shouts, bracing for the pain that’s sure to come. She hears the rustling of robes, but no hit comes.

“Well, Miss Granger, I was going to take 25 points for you being reckless and endangering yourself. But you lied to me to protect your pride. 50 points from Gryffindor.”

“Professor!” Hermione shouts.

“As for you Miss Potter,” McGonagall continues, “15 points to Gryffindor for bravery and thinking of others. I will be coming to the common room in a bit to address the house- it seems there is a bullying problem festering in Godric’s house.”

All in all, Gryffindor lost 125 points for the incident, barely set off by the measly 15 Harri earned. McGonagall wouldn’t explain the whole incident, and Ron was quick to twist the blame. Hermione continued to be shunned, and, angry at Harri for getting her in trouble, she caved to the other crowd. And so, by Winter Holidays, Harri had her house, her new ‘family’ turned against her.

The rest of the year passed in a blur of sabotaged assignments and work. She lost the first quidditch match, Quirrell’s hex on her broom causing her to fall and break an arm. Hagrid’s dragon issue just was too much for her to handle, and Snape caught her out at night researching.

She got seven detentions for her rule breaking, but the dragon disappeared and she was too scared to ask Hagrid, who honestly terrified her. The end of the year came and Harri was trying to avoid being pranked again for losing another quidditch match when Quirrell struck. He hexed her and dragged her into the third-floor corridor. When he was working through the chess game, she broke free. Dodging stone sword and axes as she ‘cheated’, she ran into the previous room only to be bombarded with metal keys. Harri tried to cover her head and ran for the far door, diving through only to get hoisted up and wrapped up by the massive tentacles of Devil’s Snare.

“Incendio.” Harri finally shouted, able to free her mouth and regain her wits. Her wand was trapped against her leg, but another shiny burn wasn’t going to kill her. The plant roasted. Her leg smelled like cooked meat and the skin was blackened and flaking, but the Devil’s snare was vaporized.

Quirrell burst through the door, grabbing her by her collar and snarling. His forehead was split open and he was limping. In the previous room, all of the keys were embedded in the walls, the other door hanging open by the hinges. Through that was the chess board, covered in rubble and two cracked crowns. Dragging her by the collar of her robes, Quirrell blew the opposite door open and muttered some spell. A bolt of violet light flew from his wand and hit the troll. It was like a cannon had hit the troll, a fist sized hole from the front expanding to the size of a manhole cover in the back oozing green blood.

Quirrell tosses her down on the stone and reads the paper on the table of beakers.

“Oh, Severus, you were always tricky.” Quirrell chuckles, “but this time you tried too hard.” He whirls around, and Harri notices his eyes are different colors. “Drink this, you whelp.” He says, shoving a vial in her face.

Harri does, and an icy feeling washes over her.

“Through the flames. I’ll be right behind you, so don’t get any ideas. The chamber is a dead end anyway.” He demands, shoving her into the fire. Harri braces for a burn that never comes, and looks around amazed at the ticking flames.

“I said move!” Quirrell snarls, raising a foot and kicking Harri into the other room. By the time she scrambles to her hands and knees, he is stepping through.

“Next person to try and come through there using those potions is going to find themselves particularly weak to the flames. Like kerosene.” He grins, “Now, what did old doddering Dumbles leave for us in here? It was a delight to find that my host shared my disdain for the old coot. I didn’t even have to fight Quirrell that much to take him over completely. Possession is so easy when the host invites you in. Magic is intent based, after all. Lesson one, you have to want it if you are to have it.” He grandstands.

“Demonstration;” he whirls around and point his wand at the mirror, “Give it to me!” an arc of green light shoots from his wand to the mirror where it carves into the gold frame, rotting and tarnishing the delicate engravings. But, as soon as he cuts off the stream of magic, the mirror shimmers and repairs itself.

“Interesting. Willpower is important for any witch or wizard, especially when dealing with runes or enchantments. Both of them are residual magics that draw on the power they collect over time. Thus, why the belief is that they grow in strength over time, which is true to an extent. But, the skill and the will of the magical casting them is equally important. One family I attacked during the last war, the parents fell easily, but the oldest daughter protected her brother. She was only a sixth year, but she poured so much willpower and intent into her wards that they were probably stronger than any other in existence.” He lectures, and Harri, in pain and piecing together that this is the dark lord himself, can’t help but pay attention.

“Unfortunately for her, she was only a sixth year. She had the will, but her skill was lacking. She blocked off anything passing through her wards- we made her watch as her own magics suffocated her little brother. Specificity is key, you understand?”

He looks back at her, and Harri forces a nod.

“Good. Give me the Philosopher’s Stone!” he roars, waving his wand in a pulse of power that crashes into the mirror, the face shattering into pieces. But, like the last time, it shimmers and fixes itself.

“Mirrors are difficult targets to attack and wonderful defenses, because they do reflect magic just like they do light. In order to overcome a mirror, you have to understand the properties of its reflection, or have such a feel for your magic that you can twist your spells to dig into the surface.” Voldemort instructs, “You produced an excellent incendio against the snare, try it for yourself.” He yanks her over, missing the smoking from his little finger that brushes against her wrist.

“Incendio.” Harri says, and her wand gives a little sputter of flame, barely four inches long and not remotely hot.

“How disappointing,” Voldemort drawls, “Emotion plays a lot in magic as well, reinforcing one’s willpower. Perhaps when your life was threatened you tapped into the rage within. Maybe if I-“ he ducks the sudden whip of Harri’s wand, a much more respectable jet of flame, four feet long and hot enough to sear his eyebrows off.

“Hah! Some fight to you. I expect nothing less of the girl-who-lived.” He praises, “Now the mirror.” He rotates her by the shoulders to face the mirror and she looks into the glass. Her reflection stares back, reaching out and drawing a cross with her fingers to mark the spot. Harri levels her wand and reaches down, summoning her hate and pain for the man, for everything he represents.

“Petrificus Totalus!” she screams, the spell rebounding off the mirror and nearly striking the wizard behind her. Where she hit the mirror, the glass is cracked. It doesn’t repair.

“That was a spell! Whew, if you’d hit me with that, I think even I would have been locked down. Not a simple feat for a firstie. Many adult wizards can’t claim that. But word of advice, don’t try a sneak attack when your enemy is looking into a mirror that shows their user their innermost desires. A master of magic and body like me, I can coerce it into showing me whatever. Showing how you would try and betray me, if was too easy. But since you provided such a nice opening for me-“ Voldemort casually jabs his wand. The crack she put in it spreads to the frame in every direction, spirally out and shattering.

“Now for that pathetic fools last secret.” Voldemort mutters, sifting through the glass fragments and over the frame. A shard leaning sideways looks at Harri and the eye behind it winks at her. A weight slides into her overly large shoe and she knows she has the stone. As he turns up nothing Voldemort looks around the chamber, waving his wand and muttering before he slowly alights on Harri.

“Oh, bravo. I don’t know how you pulled it off under my nose, but well done my dear, well done. Now, hand it over. Before this gets messy.” He threatens, holding out his hand.

Harri shakes her head and tightens the grip on her wand.

“Now my dear, since you’ve been so well behaved, I’ll give you one last chance to come clean. Give me the stone and your death will be quick. I can’t well leave you alive. If it’s any consolation, your parents’ deaths were wholly unnecessary. Had they stepped aside; I would have taken only you that night. I never meant to leave you an orphan. It’s a wretched existence. The stories we could share, well, best leave trauma buried with the bodies.”

Harri doesn’t know how to react, how to handle so much thrown at her all at once. He’s evil, and she has to stop him, but…

But she’d be a hero. She’d save the school and the wizarding world. She’d stop being hated; stop being hurt. Maybe they’d even let her leave the Dursleys. And if she failed, well, she wouldn’t be going back to the Dursleys one way or another.

“No.” She says firmly, eyes flashing behind her glasses. “I won’t let you take the stone.”

“I suppose I must respect your bravery and will. You have nothing to go back to, and still, you’ll fight to stop me. They’ll never love you; you know that. You’ll always be trash to them. But that has been my job for so long, hasn’t it; to take out the trash.” He goes to bow and halfway down he strikes, a jet of yellow light catching Harri in the neck. Pain erupts from her neck as what feels like acid eats into her neck.

“That’s a rotting curse- I don’t give you more than ten, fifteen seconds.” Voldemort says, waling closer. Harri drops her wand to clutch at her throat as it burns and closes off her lungs burning in her chest.

“Wow. Twenty-five seconds already and you’re not even showing signs of dying yet. Remarkable.” He crouches over her.

Harri can’t focus on anything but the pain, not even when he peels her hands away from her throat to look at the impact of the spell.

“Huh. One minute four seconds, and it looks like you’re pushing the curse back. I’m genuinely impressed. Were things different, I would have loved to work with you. To teach you and train you. A true apprentice who could keep up with me. What a shame.” He tsks.

“Die. You. Monster.” Harri growls through her sore throat, lunging forward to grab his face. He may not have noticed his skin burning where he touched her, but she hadn’t. Harri fights to keep her hands on his face, digging a finger into his eyes socket. Voldemort screams, but he can’t pry her off. His struggles slow and the body finally goes limp.

“A magnificent performance. If you can forgive me my sins against you, you are welcome at my side anytime. I would love to have you- and unlike those fools I will appreciate you as you should be. Magi like you are precious and oh so valuable. Tata!” Voldemort, speech finished, floats into the wall and vanishes.

Harri, hurting and exhausted, slumps over.


End file.
